The Pretender
by GatorGurl94
Summary: Sam and Dean unleash something completely different from the computer room. Tiniest of spoiler for 9X04 Slumber Party. No beta. All mistakes are my own. Supernatural is not.


This is his favorite part of the day. The few seconds between sleep and consciousness. The few seconds he is free of who and where he is. When life could be anything and promise exists. He tries to linger in the ether, waking as slowly as possible, but there's no easing into it this morning.

If his body's a temple, then Sam can safely say he knows every nook and cranny of this particular one. Knows every ache, the feel of every muscle. Knows its weight and limits. Nothing gives a person a deeper appreciation for wearing his own skin than knowing what it's like to lose control of your own body.

Instantly, he senses something is horribly wrong. There is no weight. No pain. Everything feels too small. And there is…something…something that feels too much like…a presence? NO. He sits up, gasp caught in this throat. He scrambles to his knobby knees. Dread pools in his stomach. The presence ebbs; shrinks away until it's only a hum at the base of his skull.

Before he has any more time to consider what's happening, Dean bursts through the door. Small and angry. Growls, "What. The. FUCK?"

Sam had laughed. Laughed as he pulled Dean off the floor and congratulated him on winning his fight with the back panel of the computer. He'd laughed, as the mist cleared around them and Dean muttered a joke about the bunker trying to kill them.

They are not laughing now.

"Don't do it man. We can figure this out."

"It's been a week, Dean. We're not any closer to finding a solution. We are nearly out of food. We have no clothes."

"What about Sheriff Mills?"

"She has a job. She can't just call in sick indefinitely."

"Charlie has a job."

"That she can do anywhere."

Dean runs his hands through his nearly blond hair. A soft and vulnerable expression crosses his face. All Sam can think is, _I remember you. _

"Fine." Is all Dean says before storming off into the kitchen.

Sam kneels on the chair, punches out an email to Charlie's "you better be dying" account.

Sam guesses he's six, maybe seven. He's not sure. No one is mindful of their body when they're little. He tries to remember what he looked like then, what it felt like to be six year old Sam, and immediately wants to derail his train of thought. It's too painful. There are too many uncomfortable memories: too much fear and anger and insecurity. He remembers hating how small he was, how helpless he often felt. He remembers Dean, ever present and larger than life, his brother, his only real friend.

The memories flood back unbidden: of rough housing in shitty motels, of stories whispered against the background of thunder, of comfort and warmth, of I love yous. He remembers when his brother was the world. Remembers that world doesn't exist anymore. The ache slams into him like a physical force and he is crying.

This has been the hardest thing by far. Not the inconvenient lack of strength or height or lack of clothes. It's this inability to control his emotions. His mind might be that of a grown man but his body is not. Biology is biology. His body isn't built to withstand the baggage he's brought with him. He can't help but feel betrayed.

He adjusts the rubber band keeping his boxers/pants in place and goes to look for his brother.

They've spent the bulk of the week on a frantic search for whatever will reverse whatever was trapped in the jar Dean knocked over when he slammed into the shelving. Mercifully, it had been labeled- "Renascentia". Rebirth. Woefully, it didn't come with instructions, any indication of possible long term side effects.

They had dug through as many of the files they could reach, searched the dregs of the internet and consulted every spell book they had found. While they were now acutely aware of just how badly they'd failed to take advantage of the bunker's resources, they were not any closer to figuring out how long this would last or if it could be reversed.

Dean's screams snaps him out of his haze; he runs.

"Fuck you!" Dean shouts, punches the weight bag throwing his full weight behind each blow, but having little effect. Sam watches from the doorway of the training room as his brother shouts and cries and beats the bag. "Done! Fucking done!"

Dean hits the bag lamely, the anger sputtering out. "Not fair." He says to no one. "It's just not fair."

Dean drops to ground. He pulls his knees tightly to his chest. His face buried between his knees. He sobs and gasps for breath. Dean cries; Sam cries too.

"Dean?" He hates how high and shaky his voice sounds. Hates the tickle of fear at the base of his spine.

"Go away Sam." Dean chokes out between sobs.

He remembers this feeling. Remembers the panic seeing Dean afraid or hurt or unhappy always brought. He remembers Dean always being strong for Sam but never strong enough to demand anything for himself. He remembers how it stung when Dean rebuked his offers of comfort.

They may be trapped in these bodies but they are not those kids anymore. He slips into the room.

"I mean it."

Sam is small enough to drape himself across Dean's back in awkward hug. To Sam's surprise, Dean doesn't try to shake him off. Is even more surprised when Dean reaches back and rest his hand on him. Dean's body shakes; Sam pulls him closer. The part of him that is hesitant about being this close is easily overwhelmed by the part that has missed this. He'd had no idea how much_._

"All right, bitches. Where's the fire?" She half laughs, half teases as she walk through the door. It takes a second for her to realize the person she expects is not there and another second for her to turn and look at him. "Who the hell are you?"

She shakes her head, presses her palms into the table. "Let me get this straight. You knocked over a mason jar full of….something…and now you've been turned into little kids but you're still you…in your heads."

They nod in unison. Sam thinks she's taking it surprisingly well. He considers this a moment and realizes maybe her easy acceptance really shouldn't be that surprising after all.

She lets out a long breath. "That's seriously messed up."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Preaching to the choir."

After a long pause, she looks from one brother to the other, a quirky smile playing on her lips.

"Don't say it. So help me. I will kill you." Dean threatens but Sam can tell he's only playing. This is his "Sammy, you better run; I'm coming to get you" voice.

"It's just, you two...you two are SO adorable." She laughs as Dean lunges across the table with no real menace. She shrieks, scrambling out of her seat as Dean goes after her. He catches her, drags her down and pins her. At ten? Eleven? He's already almost as tall as she is.

She tries to squirm away; Dean easily compensates. "Take it back."

She gets in weak smack. Her laughter echoes through the bunker. "Call him off Sam!"

She laughs, loud and hard, trying to catch her breath. Sam wonders what it is about Charlie that lets Dean feel free to relax, to shake off his armor and, well, play. He wonders why that isn't something Dean can do around him anymore.

"Come on Sam. Help me out here." Dean looks at back at him, smile planted firmly on his face. An open, happy, joyful smile Sam hasn't seen since they were really this age. In instant he's back there. Back to that time when Dean was HIS brother and like a favorite toy was not to be shared. His adult mind tells him to stop being ridiculous. His six year old body wants to tell Charlie to leave his brother alone.

He scoots carefully off the chair, moving beside them and tries hard not to sound like a petulant brat as he reminds them they still need food and clothing.

"Don't let him catch you doing that."

Charlie jumps a little, pulling back from where she was watching Dean. "I wasn't…"

Sam almost feels bad for putting her on the spot. It's not her fault Dean guards his intellect like a secret weapon. Dean is kneeling in the chair, references one book then another then he scribbles something down into what Sam knows is his journal.

"Come on," he tells her. "Help me get these to my room."

She reaches for the bag he's been slowly dragging. He happily hands it over.

She sits on his bed and watches him arrange books.

"So this is your room."

"Yeah." God, he hates his voice.

"Hmm. This isn't what I pictured."

He shoves the final book in place and turns to her. She smiles at him. Puts out her hand for him to take. He doesn't think, just takes it.

"How are you?"

He's confused and he guesses it shows because she chuckles. "Ugh, it's so weird seeing your expressions on a little boy's face."

Without warning, she slides off the bed, pulling him closer as she does, and hugs him.

"Charlie…" He squirms, overwhelmed with her touch, with the tenderness in her embrace. Even though, it's not remotely the same, he can't help but think of Jess, her body clinging to him like there wasn't ever going to be enough of him to hold onto.

"I'd be losing my mind." She holds him a little tighter, rocking ever so slightly. Sam wonders if she even knows she's doing it. "So little," she whispers. The implication, so vulnerable, goes unsaid.

"Sometimes it feels that way. Like I'm going crazy." He mumbles into her hair, wrapping his arm around her neck. "I can't do this again."

"We'll figure it out." She promises.

_Who are you?_

_I am a friend._

_What are you doing here?_

_Helping you._

_I don't need help._

_I give it willingly, Sam. I promised your brother._

Sam bolts into a sitting position. The sheets damp with sweat. Fear, full on, irrational fear clutches his chest. He stumbles out of bed, tripping, falling to his knees. Before he can stop himself, he screams for his brother.

Charlie watches from the doorway as Dean scoops him up off the floor. Sam tell him about the man. Dean assures Sam it is just a dream, but something about the not so veiled worry in his eyes, makes Sam wonder. Dean was already a master of evasion and denial at this age the first time around. What could have him so concerned?

Dean helps Sam into bed. "You want me to stay?"

Every physical instinct in his body screams yes while his brain protests and recoils at the thought. _You're too fucking old for this!_ It's too much. Sam wants to tear into his own brain. Wants to be one thing or the other. Can't reconcile the discrepancies between what his biology and his mind demand.

Thankfully, Dean makes the decision for him. He climbs in beside him.

"You guys want me to tuck you in?" Charlie teases, cutting the tension Sam hadn't even noticed was there.

Dean elbows Sam playfully, gives him one of his "watch this Sammy" winks, "Sure, come tuck us in."

Charlie smiles nervously, moves to their bedside hesitant and awkward. _She doesn't know how to do this._ She pulls the covers over them in rush.

"You're a jerk, you know that?" She asks Dean. She kisses Dean's forehead then Sam's and runs out of the room.

Something about Dean's amused but shocked expression makes Sam forget all about the stranger in his dream. He pounces on his older brother. "Jerk."

Dean laughs letting Sam climb on him but quickly flipping him. "Bitch."

Dean asks Sam to help him with the Impala. Some of the best conversations they've ever had, they've had while Dean was under the hood of that car. Sam eagerly agrees to help.

Dean finds a step stool for himself and a stool for Sam to sit on. Sam could get on it himself but lets Dean hoist him up. Sam knows there is nothing wrong with the car but also knows tending to it is the closest thing to therapy Dean will ever have.

Sam watches Dean flit from one part to another, sips on his soda and pretends it's a beer. Dean is telling Sam about an obscure reference he found, but Sam is not really listening. Sam is lost in how familiar yet surreal this is. It occurs to him that he never did this the first time around. Back then their father was under the hood and Dean was the one perched beside him. Sam usually played or read or colored in the back seat.

As Dean checks the hoses, Sam tells him he believes eventually they'll begin regressing. Believes biology will slowly erode whatever after effect has allowed them to retain their adult minds. He doesn't know about Dean but it's only getting harder for Sam to control his emotions, harder to move gracefully. He all arms and legs these days. Clumsy like he used to be. The thought terrifies him.

They've talked it about it before, but he asks anyway. What will they do if they are trapped in these bodies? Because you can do a lot of things on line, but at some point the mundane tasks that make day to day living possible will demand they go out into the world. That's something they won't be able to do without help. A few years ago, they could have gone to Bobby. Who will they go to now? How will they survive? They can't even buy groceries. How are they supposed to fight Heaven and Hell?

Dean scowls and tells him he hopes he is wrong. Tells him Charlie would stay if they asked. Tells him that maybe this means they're off angel/demon duty for a while. Tells him maybe this is a blessing in disguise. Sam regards his brother skeptically choosing to swallow his rebuttal, at least for the moment.

"Do you have nightmares?" He asks as Dean helps him off the stool. Dean hesitates then sets Sam down.

"Do _you_ have nightmares?" Dean asks him.

"You** know **I do." Sam replies with an agitated huff.

Dean's inner struggle is obvious. After some consideration, Dean admits he has nightmares about his time in hell, sometimes about purgatory. Sam doesn't want to think too much about what that means for his brother.

Dean takes Sam's hand as they start walking back and says, "Sometimes I'm not in your room for you."

Sam knows just how much it must have taken for adult Dean to make the admission. They don't talk about it again.

"I can't stand it anymore." Charlie says with feigned dismay as she rushes into Sam's room melodramatically. "Come on. We're going OUT."

She grabs Sam off the bed, spins him around and hoists him onto her hip. Sam is mortified. Slowly but surely, she's forgetting that he's not really a little kid. Bitterness and anger churn in his gut. His entire life negated by cute little packaging. He won't do it. He beat the fucking Devil. He won't be carried like a baby despite the pout on his flushed face.

"Put me down Charlie." His voice is high and whinny and full of venom.

She stops.

"Let me go."

She sets him down.

"I'm sorry," she stammers, her face beet red. Her eyes are wide, shining with ready-to-fall tears.

This is impossible. It's not fair. He feels like an ass. He should apologize but can't and instead takes her hand. It's a weak peace offering but it's all he's got. They're a month in and he's a week past desperate. They still don't know anything even after breaking down and putting feelers out into the hunting world.

"It's okay," She says easing her hand out of his. "I get it. Let's just go get Dean."

She heads down the hall and it's not until she's rounded the corner that he hears her swallow a sob.

Sam knows Dean is awake. Dean's steady breathing trick hasn't worked since the last time Sam six.

"Did Charlie say anything to you?" Sam stares at the wall, feels Dean sit up but doesn't turn to look at him.

"Yeah." Dean replies, so tired and weary that he almost sounds like he's supposed to. Almost. "You hurt her feelings. Try to be nicer tomorrow."

Sam sits up and turns to his brother. He takes a deep breath, trying hard to control the bundle of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. "How do you do it? Aren't you afraid? I'm terrified. Dean, I don't want to start over. We're so close...so close…and I just want to finish it. And we can't, not as long as we're like this. This isn't a blessing. It's a curse."

Dean wraps his arm around him, pulls him tightly to his side. Sam rests his head against his chest.

"I get it Sam. I do. I'm just as ready to be back in my own body as you are. But none of this is Charlie's fault. You can't blame her for slipping every now and then. We are pretty adorable."

"How do you do it? How do you deal with this?" He asks again, brushing off Dean's attempt at levity.

Dean squeezes him and whispers. "I pretend."

Sam isn't sure exactly what it means or is supposed to imply, but immediately wonders if this Dean will disappear as soon as the spell is broken. He wants desperately to ask if he's pretending now, but doesn't. Part of him doesn't want to know. He tells himself it doesn't matter.

To celebrate they go out drinking. It seems appropriate. For Charlie's sake, they choose a bar that's more restaurant, less dive.

Four rounds in Dean and Charlie begin giving him running commentary on every woman in the bar.

"That one's right up your alley, Sammy." Dean shoots him a mischievous grin.

Charlie gives him an approving nod then starts to shake her head. "No, no-it's too weird." She downs another shot.

Dean takes the shot glass from her. "Whoa. Ease up Coach."

"Am okay." She insists, but it obvious she's on the verge of tears.

Dean puts his arm around her. "What's wrong?"

"I'm going to miss you…them…" She shakes her head again in frustration. Doesn't bother to hide her tears. "You/them…whatever!"

"Come on, let's get out of here." Dean eases her out of the booth, quickly finishing the remaining shots as they scoot out.

They put Charlie to bed and decide to finish the emergency bottle of whiskey the keep stashed in the dungeon. They sit at the map table, feet propped on the extra chairs.

They sit in silence for a few minutes before Sam finally asks the question that's been on his mind for the past four days.

"What did you mean when you said you pretend? Were you pretending that whole time?"

Dean rolls his eyes. "Come on, Sam."

"Was it real? You and me. Because these past three years…"

"Damn it, Sam. That's not what I meant."

"Then what?"

"Sam…I can't." Dean's voice cracks.

Sam remembers this look. He can count on one hand the number of times he's seen it. He knows what it means; he knows the path it'll take Dean if he lets it. He doesn't ever want to see that look again.

He lets it go. Whatever admission he gets out Dean will come with too high a price. He shoves aside his frustration. Decides to follows his brother's advice. Realizes maybe it's what he's been doing all along.

"It's going to be really quiet without Charlie here." Sam says.

Dean nods, accepting the out Sam's given him. Swallows hard before adding, "Yeah, it was kind of nice having a big sister."


End file.
